


Just Good Business

by KnightRepentant



Series: Last Angel in Heaven [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Courser, Drunken Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Greenetech Genetics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 17:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightRepentant/pseuds/KnightRepentant
Summary: In the aftermath of the Fallen's battle with an Institute Courser, important truths are shared.





	Just Good Business

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Просто хорошее дело](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170434) by [Blacki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacki/pseuds/Blacki)



4th April, 2288 A.D.

The Courser’s body lay twitching and mangled upon the floor, scorch marks from laser blasts marring every wall, spent bullet casings bouncing off the Fallen’s boots as he turned from the battle scene. The final door creaked open, and he breathed deeply the rush of air that followed. It still held the sour tang of rads, but after the frantic roar of laser pistols and the snapping of his rifle, the smoke and the blood, after that it was the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled. One hand shielded his eyes from a floodlight’s sickly glare, and eventually the light faded to reveal the Boston cityscape unfurling before him. The sun rested like a loose coal upon the horizon, staining the clouds with amber, but the wind was cool and carried with it the scent of the sea.

               “Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Limping and bruised, but still smiling, MacCready joined him on the observation deck. “Almost makes up for not getting any caps outta this,” he set his rifle on the floor and walked to the very edge. The Fallen’s heart jumped for a moment, but MacCready simply eased himself to the floor with a pained grunt, his legs dangling over a drop that made The Fallen’s head spin to think of it. He left his rifle, sword, bag of grenades, ammo belt, revolver, 10mm and their last Molotov next to the first rifle and went to sit beside his friend. It wasn’t until he bent down that pain roared all across his chest and abdomen, up one arm and down his right thigh. His gasp made MacCready chuckle and pat his shoulder, “Yeah you took a hell of a beating, gonna need patching up on the way back to the Drive-In.”

               “So will you, can’t believe you tried to sock that thing in the face.” MacCready flexed his bleeding fingers,

               “Yeah, not my smartest move. I think it pissed him off, though, and we’re talking about a Courser here.” The Fallen grinned weakly,

               “Definitely an achievement. But then he threw you over the railin', and I…”

               “Aw, you were worried about me!” A gentle punch hit the Fallen’s shoulder, “But hey, I know how to land, so no harm done.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing out at the fading landscape.

               “Thanks, for doin’ this with me, Mack. Two hundred caps probably didn’t cover huntin’ down a Courser.”

               “What? I don’t give a sh-I mean, I don’t really care about the caps. You went with me to Med-Tek, smashed through all those ferals to get the cure for Duncan. I owed you for that, still do. You were the only person in the Commonwealth who’d even talk to me, besides Daisy.”

               “So you aren’t mad that I wrangled a discount out of you a year ago? Because I honestly didn’t have two-hundred-and-fifty caps on me then. Hell, I didn’t have a clue what I was doin’.” MacCready clapped a hand on his shoulder, carefully,

               “I get it, can’t have been fun, leaving that green and perfect life and waking up to this trash heap.” The Fallen looked down at his burnt and bloody hands,

               “It wasn’t, not at first. But then I met Piper, and Nick and Preston, Curie, even Hancock, and you. Comin’ out of that vault alone, I was goin’ out of my mind.” MacCready’s hand squeezed his shoulder,

               “Then you’re in good company, at least.” The Fallen tried to laugh, but pain lanced through him and turned it into a groan through gritted teeth. A hand riddled with innumerable tiny scars pressed into his chest, “Okay, time to get moving. I’m not carrying you down those stairs if you pass out.” MacCready looped the Fallen’s arm over his shoulders and the pair of them struggled to their feet.

               “You would, though.” The Fallen tried his best to smile, “bit like a soldier, am I right?” Deep blue eyes snapped around to meet his, but MacCready said nothing, and their descent was made in pregnant, restless silence.

               The dusk sky was ravaged in red and black smog and threaded with rad-lightning.

               “Shi-shoot, radstorm, masks on. Their ‘masks’ were actually just neckerchiefs that they just pulled up over their faces. The Fallen was walking upright now, his Pip-Boy held high in front of him to pierce the choking darkness. MacCready was close behind him, so much so that the Fallen could feel his ragged breathing,

               “Mack, you okay?”

               “Leg’s killing me, and keep your voice down. I don’t wanna get up close and personal with a ghoul pack in these woods.” Boston centre was disappearing behind the hill now, and around them was nothing but dead and twisted trees, and the murk wallowing between. The Fallen heard a family of crows shuffling high above and felt his fingers flicker instinctively to the rifle trigger. Ahead, an angular silhouette loomed atop a rise.

               Some old pylon, rusted and swathed in ivy, offered meagre shelter from the winds. MacCready sat slumped against a toppled sign marked ‘DANGER – HIGH VOLTAGE’ until the Fallen returned with his arms full of dead wood. “It’s a risk making a fire, but right now I just wanna be warm.” The Fallen piled the kindling high and began patting his pockets, to no avail,

               “Shit. Mack, you got a light?” A silver lighter tumbled across the gap into his hand and soon their small shelter basked in a sphere of orange light. The Fallen lit a cigarette off of a smouldering branch, took a long drag, and then passed it over. MacCready blew a long plume of smoke up into the cloud of embers dancing above the flames,

               “Thought you didn’t smoke,” he said, flashing a look of mocking admonition, “’not a healthy lifestyle’ or something like that.” The Fallen limped over to sit beside him, plucked the cigarette from MacCready’s mouth and stole a drag,

               “Yeah, well, today’s a special occasion. Now I’m one step closer to gettin’ my boy back, don’t care how many clockwork men the Institute throws at us.”

               “I hear that. Shaun’s lucky to have a dad like you.” MacCready scuffed at the dirt with one foot, “Luckier’n my son, anyw…”

               “Hey… _hey_! Thought we said no more of that kinda talk.” The Fallen got up to squat in front of his friend, “You got dealt a crap hand, in the kingdom of crappy hands, and you made it work. We got the cure from Med-Tek and come sunrise it’ll be on its way to Duncan, lotta folks woulda waved him goodbye and then kept on walkin’, Mack. So no more beatin’ yourself down, deal?” He proffered the cigarette. MacCready almost met his gaze as he reached for it, but when the ash flared at its end he saw the glow reflected in those ocean-blue eyes. The merc gave the slightest nod, “well, alright. And speakin’ of special occasions, I reckon this is as good a time as any to show you somethin’ really special.” He pulled up his pack and began rummaging in a secure pocket, muttering under his breath, until a triumphant hand pulled free towards the sky. “Check it out,” he held out a stout bottle full of rich amber liquor. MacCready took it and struggled through the writing that remained,

               “Forester…Whiskey?”

               “Yup, and the best mind you, pre-war, not the cat's-piss they call whiskey these days.” MacCready smiled and handed the bottle back, 

               “245-year-old liquor does sound good right about now,”

               “No finer way to get drunk, and no man I’d rather get drunk with,” the Fallen raised the bottle in a mock toast, only to gasp in pain and clutch at his side. MacCready was on his feet in an instant, rescuing the bottle from falling and propping the Fallen against the fallen pylon. He pulled the Fallen’s duster back to reveal a dark stain running from armpit to waist,

               “How the heck didn’t you notice this?! Sit…just sit down a moment, while I get…get the…” the Fallen growled in pain as he hit the grass,

               “The red case in my pack, nicked a bunch of vac-sealed bandages from Med-Tek, should be enough for both of us.” As MacCready scattered the pack’s contents in his search, the Fallen tried to shrug off his coat, which only sent another ripple of pain across his back. Reaching over to pull his arm from its sleeve met with the same result and he sagged, “Mack. Mack I can’t…”

               “Hang on, Sam. hang on, I got…stop fidgeting,” The coat was carefully slid from his shoulders, “Shirt too. I think it’s bad.” His fingers slipped on the shirt buttons, the Fallen could hear his own ragged breathing as he fought for what seemed an eternity to undo each one. Then the shirt was off, and “Oh god…” was all MacCready managed. Somehow, the shirt had been keeping the pain at bay, but now exposure to the cold brought it rushing in. His muscles felt taut, knotted and on fire all at once. Looking down, the Fallen saw a maddening tapestry of purple and black spread across his chest, abs, left shoulder and left arm, and a weeping wound in his left side. He was shaking now,

               “Mack…” But MacCready was already working, he’d found the silver tin Curie had given him. Inside was a clear ointment, he’d only half-understood her explanation of how she’d made it but as MacCready started applying it, a cold even sharper than the wind, he found he didn’t mind. It stung terribly for a moment as it covered the laceration, but that quickly faded to blessed numbness. A sigh gusted from his lungs, which only burned a little bit now,

              “Fuck me, that’s good.” MacCready gave a nervous chuckle,

              “Yeah, well that’s Curie’s handiwork not mine,”

              “Oh I dunno, you seem to be doin’ fine to me,” another blue glance, hands slowing in their work for just a moment,

              “Done, how’s it feel?” the Fallen cautiously flexed his arms and rolled his left shoulder back,

              “Curie knows her stuff, barely twinges. Bandages now.” Fresh from vac-seal, the strips were a pristine white and soft against his skin. MacCready was less frantic now, his hands deft but unhurried,

              “Arm up,” the Fallen obliged, and MacCready wound and wound the bandage tight.

              “You’d have been a great medic, y’know,” the Fallen said softly as his friend pulled the knot taut. MacCready made a sound that could’ve been scorn, or amusement,

              “I’m way better at shooting people than patching ‘em up, but I’ll do both if it keeps your crazy head on your shoulders.” The Fallen just shook his head with a grin,

              “Thanks. Now, coat off, shirt off.” MacCready’s duster crackled as he pulled it away, “Geez, dude, when’s the last time you aired this thing out? It was startin’ to become part of you,” the Fallen tossed it over a girder and leaned forward,

              “Hey, I can do my own buttons…”

              “Hush now, the doctor is workin’.” MacCready snorted, then winced. The Fallen took up the tin of salve and began spreading it over the bouquet of bruises up MacCready’s right side, and across his chest. MacCready’s sigh of relief was cut short with a gasp, “Yeah, still got your stomach to do, that Courser nearly punched a hole through you. Kneel up, Mack.”

He obliged, and the Fallen carried on. Hands made rough by clutching a rifle felt smooth beneath the salve, the Fallen’s fingers getting tangled in his belly hair made MacCready look up. Eyes, soft as silk at times, unbending as steel at others, blinked slowly up at him, then darted away. “Just have to wrap you up now.” The Fallen worked with precise, gentle movements. He noted every old scar, every nick in the skin without really thinking about it. MacCready had muscle but it was all lean and tough, wiry but solid. He stepped back, “Good as new, eh? Now,” he snatched up the whiskey bottle, “we get to the good part.”

               “OHHH, THEY CALL ME THE WANDERER…THE WANDERER…I ROAM AROUND, AROUND, AROUND, AROUND…!” Two voices bellowed a tone-deaf accompaniment to Diamond City Radio’s greatest hits. The Fallen’s Pip-Boy was propped up on a tree stump at max volume, while two bandaged lunatics staggered and bounced in rings around the campfire. MacCready’s hat clung to his head a jaunty angle, threatening to abandon ship as he tilted his head back to take another gulp of liquor, “I ROAM FROM TOWN TO TOWN…” The Fallen took a swig from the bottle, “LIVIN’ LIFE, WITHOUT A CARE…” Their laughter, reminiscent of drunken hyenas, echoed off the skeletal trees, “I’M AS HAPPY AS A CLOWN…!” The Fallen had one arm around MacCready’s waist as they jumped to the beat, the other swung the bottle high overhead. He brought it down for another gulp as MacCready pulled his hair from in front of his eyes.

               "Y-your eyes are so beau-be-beauti... _nice,_ Sam," he managed, "Like...storm clouds." The Fallen grinned broadly and poked MacCready's chest,

               "And yours are really, really...really... _blue,_ " his hand left MacCready's chest, travelling up his neck until his thumb stroked gently against the merc's cheek, the other pressed tighter around his waist. MacCready met him halfway, arms pulling tight, pulling him close. Travis’ stuttering voice blurred into the background as their kiss deepened. The Fallen’s fingers pushed droplets of sweat down MacCready’s back, hands exploring faded scars on his stomach, grasping at his backside… 

The old bottle fell on its side in the grass.


End file.
